


Parachutes

by glowinggreeneyes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dom Castiel, Dom/sub, Edge Play, Edging, F/M, Gay Castiel, M/M, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Slow Burn, Sub Dean, Sub Dean Winchester, WIP, Writer Dean Winchester, but not really but kind of, i need to control my use of italics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinggreeneyes/pseuds/glowinggreeneyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So,” continued John, pouring himself some fancy show-off whiskey, “what is it that you’re going to endeavour our readers into this time?”</p><p>If there was one point in Dean’s life where he could control the earth swallowing him whole, just one, it would be used at that precise moment. </p><p>He gulped, racking his mind for a topic, anything he hadn’t covered. Something new not just to him but the general public, something that could sell, something interesting, maybe something with depth and different paths, to change peoples mind more positively…something like-</p><p>“The BDSM community, sir.”</p><p>~</p><p>Ever since he could write, Dean has been doing so: school plays, essays, love letters, poems, songs, short stories, articles and finally it's landed him his job at The Hunter Times, world renowned for its diversity and challenging nature. And the fact his father is the boss. </p><p>So when he starts to gather information for his new series of articles, he meets, and by no means by any accident, Castiel: a matchmaker for S&M, and ex-dom. And, well, Cas uses this as an excuse to educate Dean in more than one way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parachutes

If you asked Dean that morning -  all wrapped in his warm sheets, hair disheveled and alarm clock beeping incessantly in his ear - where he’d imagine himself to be in, say, 3 hours, he would simply reply ‘the office’. Not even in his state of mind would he think ‘hospital’.

“We’re losing him.” That was strange, but then again Dean found gay porn under his friend's desk last week so he felt pretty unshakable by this point. But it was the first phrase Dean heard as his eyes fluttered lazily opened. “I’m sorry…” Sorry? _Sorry?_ They were giving up on him! Dean never felt more alive - if you didn't count the numbing feeling swelling through his muscles. “Time of death…nine-o-three.”

Well, there must be some mistake because the last time he checked he was definitely still alive and _breathing_. At least, he thought he was. Unless he was a ghost. _Damn_. 

It took him approximately thirty seconds and whatever the hell they'd put him on kicked in, through one of the many cables and wires attached and monitoring to him, to realise that the voices he heard prior to this epiphany belonged to the Doctors and nurses of the next bed over. They were many and bickering still, dressed in white, like a reverse funeral.

Dean’s heart suddenly sunk. Some poor guy had just _died_ next to him. No more breath, or smiles, memories or secrets, nothing human remained apart from a few organs and a face some people may recognise; they probably didn’t even have last words, just a gasp of life that filled his lungs. He didn’t know how to take this. This was the closed thing he’d come to someone dying – even his sister died a good 100 feet away from his big green eyes and young skinned, chubby cheeks.

While he fully accustomed to the absolutely delightful comfortableness of the budget-snug bed and all the lights, his heavy blinking allowed him to look at the previously flesh and pumping blood of a human next to him. Dead, now, of course. They looked around Dean’s own age, a little more frail and his olive skin was tinged in purple, blue and red bruising.

Some people were signing papers, more murmuring going on; Dean felt like he was phasing in and out of consciousness because when his blinking eyes opened again there was a blank, empty space next to him where a body once was. And, surprisingly, he felt lighter, happier even, but more on edge which was uncomfortable over the all the delectation.

All he remembered was a screech of tyres from his right and a sudden hit to his head before lights out. Then he'd woken up here. He was surprisingly unfazed by the sudden turn of events this morning had taken.

Ah, he probably was dead judging by the face that greeted him, peering over his bed a few moments later.

His attempt to sit up highlighted the sharp pain and bruising along his ribs and thighs, but his pained smile remained nonetheless for the familiar woman standing there.

“Ah-ha,  Jessica.” Bright blonde hair bounced behind her as she enthusiastically walked up to Dean. Jessica Moore, prom queen, literal angel, woman of many beautiful talents and the brightest young Doctor to enter the scene (in Dean’s firm opinion), and way, _way_ far out of his brothers league.

“It’s Doctor Moore to you,” she tittered back.

“Not if Sammy gets his ass in gear and pops the question.”

“Then who said I’d change my name?”

With a shrug, Dean leaned back and let her do her Doctor things, taking notes and scribbling things down. All the while Dean was wondering what his little shit of a brother did to have her in his life, let alone live with her.

After a couple of minutes, she stood back and grimaced at Dean.

“Come on, Florence Nightingale, what’s happened to my body this time? And where are all the sexy Doctors?” Dean squinted around, shuffling to sit up a little more in his seat. Jess just rolled her eyes before taking Dean off a load of tube things and stuff that literally looked right out of the 90s. “Do you mind explaining what the fuck you’re doing, _Dr. Moore_?”

“Clinically speaking, you’ve only got a few scrapes here and there, shouldn’t be too taxing for you to cope with for about a week and putting some cream on it. That’s also providing you don’t end up in another car crash, even if it is secondary impact.”

“Ha ha, very funny. So I’m free to go?”

“You’ve received very mild trauma, like a bad headache, so you surprised us all, Dean Winchester, once again coming away from an accident with barely a scrape.” She paused in her tidying in shock of what she’d just said, wide eyes flashing up to meet Dean’s. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up…”

“It’s fine, thanks Jess,” he mumbled. He quickly forgave her in not making it awkward. “So am I all set? Can I finally get to work?”

“Not so fast, Flash, you still need recovery time. And the cops probably want to pull you in on a full questions, especially as someone died.”

Dean frowned. Not only had it been the guy next to him that was from the crash, but he had been trying to get on his father’s List of Helpful and Good People Who Should Get a Raise, and being late was not something John Winchester easily forgave. “But _theoretically_  I could and I’d be fine.”

“Theoretically, yes, but I’m not allowed to let you leave, Dean. And no, your puppy eyes don’t work on me. Stay put until I say so.”

A little throaty groan of disapproval left his lips. Then, before Jess could leave, he reached over to hold her wrist, grabbing her attention. “Say a patient…escaped.”

She raised her eyebrows but didn’t seem entirely against the plot. “Then technically it’s not my entire fault they did so…especially one under the influence of too much epinephrine."

“Is that why you didn’t administer all the unnecessary drug things right now?” Dean smirked.

“Narcotics, what narcotics, am I right?” she grinned, winking subtly.

Despite her fierce and sometimes invasive attitude towards Dean, he had to admit he had an awesome almost sister-in-law. “Thanks Jess, tell Sammy I say hey.”

“Will do. This is an incredibly serious matter Dean, take painkillers just in case I missed something, and don’t get caught. Now you get _lots_ of rest, Mr. Winchester,” she said a little louder as another Doctor came into the room. “I’ll be checking in on you in 20 minutes and make sure the drugs are working as they should and any other injuries you may have.”

“Excellent work, Dr. Moore,” came a deeper voice from the other Doctor, probably overlooking her work as she settled in to the job.

“Thanks, Doctor,” Dean smiled knowingly to Jessica as she left.

Now to find his clothes.

 

~

 

As Dean sat in the taxi on the way to his father’s main enterprise, phone twiddling around in his calloused hands, he thought back to the crash – one second he was breezing through some green lights and the next he was unconscious. And his Baby, his prized possession and (unhealthily) the love of his life was much in the same condition as he was. Luckily Bobby, practically his second father, had picked it up and was working on its scrapes.

All too soon they pulled up at the office and he was on autopilot, scrambling through the large corporate building to tell his father the best excuse of being late. Like that would go well.

The large, white door and sleek interior was intimidating enough, but his dad was more so. Think of a tower looming above ones head, all around you, with no escape unless you remain perfectly still. Dean barged through, in a state of slight panic.

“And what time do you call this?”

“Sorry, dad-sir, I mean sir.” John thinned his lips and raised his brows. “I was in a car crash, only minor injuries; I came as soon as I could escape.”

“That’s one hell of a story, but save it for your mother, I don’t buy that crap.”

“But-”

John leaned forward, his tone elevated. “Speak back to me again and I’ll cut your departments allowance.”

That almost shut Dean up to accept it. Almost. There was a brief silence, a small gap where he could get his point through to his stubborn father, and he riskily took it. “Sir, Jessica was there to confirm it.”

“…She was?” John had a soft spot for the girl. To be honest, Dean was jealous of the way she could be the child John always wanted and Dean less so. Not jealous enough to Hulk out about it but just enough that is was under his skin every time John brought up the subject of her. 

He remembered the day John and Jess met; it was a huge weight of Sammy's shoulders but then another load dumped on as he now needed to impress their father as much as Jess had done within only a few hours.

Dean nodded eagerly.

“Well, that does certainly change it around a little more,” he snarled. “I’ll be sure to check in on her and Sam tonight.”

Now Dean felt like he could leave, and he could’ve if he was faster but the pull to be that obedient son stuck with him to listen to what was going to be said, or rather told, to him.

“You know it’s a new season of work for your pages, Dean,” John leisurely began, standing up. He was taller than Dean remembered, and the casual but expensive suit made him more official, less like family like he was _supposed_ to.

 _Fuck_ , Dean forgot about choosing another topic to cover. Every two months he’d change what he was partially narrating, partially informing, as a more solid series that readers could follow over their Hunter Times paper and magazine. Previously it had been investigating genders stereotypes and representation, interviewing a hell of a load of celebrities about the industry, and then the season before last was the asexual spectrum (since writing about the ‘unseen’ sexualities of today didn’t give him enough time to go into much depth). But it was always along a safe enough route and Dean could never say he hated reporting and sharing his passion for this part of society.

The things he wrote about normally crossed two or three pages per issue printed, including photos. That was the style for his section, and it all fit. 

Unfortunately, he had not thought of what to cover for the next 8 publishing works. Which meant he was going to the deep gulf of Unforgiven™ from his father.

“So,” continued John, pouring himself some fancy, show-off whiskey, “what is it that you’re going to endeavour our readers into this time?”

If there was one point in Dean’s life where he could control the earth swallowing him whole, just _one_ , it would be used at that precise moment.

He gulped, racking his mind for a topic, anything he hadn’t covered. Something new not just to him but the general public, something that could sell, something interesting, maybe something with depth and different paths, to change the general public's mind more positively…something like- 

“The BDSM community, sir.”

John spluttered the alcoholic beverage over the floor. “The what now?”

“I-I uh would like to write about it…”

Still no words came from his surprised fathers mouth.

“Give me a chance with this, Dad, and I can do this.” 

“If that was the first thing that came to your mind then I’d hate to know what you think about in your spare time,” he darkly chuckled. A joke, right. So…was that approval? Dean was left wondering this for a few moments before he got his answer. “Just stay safe, son.”

Warmth began swelling in his chest at the reassuring title. _Stockholm syndrome_ , Dean reminded himself. “Will do, and thank you.”

John nodded and raised his glass, Dean taking this as his queue to leave, feeling a little dazed and tighter. What a great start to the next few months. 

On his way to his office, pacing through the long and daunting corridors, a small body suddenly jumped at him. It collided with his own, almost as if it was on purpose. It wasn't as if this didn't often happen with people trying to get his attention - receptionists winking at him, reporters trying to get close to him, people bending over to 'tie their shoelaces' or 'pick up something'. 

Fortunately in this situation, it was just someone being annoying. “Jesus, dude, look where you’re going- Gabe? Should’ve known…” Dean looked down at the smug grin of none other than the irritating co-editor of articles, especially of Dean’s.

“Dean-o! Just the guy…not to pry or anything, but what are you going to be making me edit for the next few months of hell?” God, he was always so _annoyingly_ happy.

“I, uh, was an idiot and took on the challenge of the whole S & M community. A lot of aspects I could cover, should be interesting, yes, but I can feel like this is going to be a tiring one.”

Gabe’s eyes slowly widened as Dean talked. “Good luck with that, I’m sure it’s a guarantee we’re going to be having slumber parties in your office editing the fuck out of this thing.” Dean shot him a sour look. "C'mon, its not like you don't love our time together, getting drunk, reminiscing over old times, talking about some deep shit-"

“Thanks for the reassurance.” Before Dean could leave and move on from his bitter end of conversation, Gabriel stood in front of him, pulling out his phone. “Dude…can I get back to work now?”

“Not so fast, Deany boy," he pointedly said, before scribbling stuff down on a scrap piece of paper he grabbed from a nearby desk. Dean stood there, hovering awkwardly with his hands on his hips, just watching the guy. Then Gabriel snappily turned around and shoved it in Dean's hand. “Here, take this. It’ll help you in your quest.”

Hesitantly, he unfolded it. On the paper was a house address, local, not to far out into the suburbs from Dean’s own home. No second name, no number, just an address and ‘Castiel’ written scrappily in pink glitter gel ink. 

“What’s this for?” Dean looked up with a furrowed brow and moist lips in an 'o' shape, before observing the name again.

“He accepts house visits from clients from 11 ‘til 4. I’d get in early.” And with a wink, Gabriel was off, leaving a confused Dean standing like he was lost.

“ _Who_ , Gabe? _Who_ is it?” Dean called out after him but got no reply but a skip in his asshole of a friends step. Defeated, Dean sighed, debating what to do with this information.

 

~

 

Research that night was long and annoying, and all Dean got out of it was a few horror stories about things that have gone wrong in the community, or worse…50 shades news everywhere. But it was enough research on the book and its impacts to make Dean nervous about venturing into this area. Why he chose it, he'd never know. The kinkiest he'd ever got was wearing panties, and that was years ago. This was full on torture some people got off on, _but whatever floats your boat_ , Dean mentally added. 

It was interesting, though, reading through some things people did, a little on relationship agreements. He even ventured into watching a video or two, nothing heavy, just some stuff he thought looked tame like he was used to.

The most disturbing part to Dean, apart from the age gap in some videos, was that Dean found himself getting worked up watching it. Not much, but the rush of blood and a light buzz ran through him was enough to scare him. His skin was humming and itching for him to do something about it - anything. But the scared side of him made him abruptly shut the laptop, deciding to call it a night.

So even with the hours that night, he wasn't exactly clearer on much. Which brought him onto the subject of the mystery name: Castiel. 

He remained preoccupied with who he was going to see tomorrow, if he didn’t cower out of it. He even got the taxi driver to go past and he had to admit the house was fairly large and nice, but old. Maybe a creepy old guy lived there and Gabe was just messing with him. Or perhaps Castiel was a porn star (Dean wouldn't put it past Gabriel, especially now). Or maybe Castiel was a cute girl, bright smile, big boobs, nice ass, _actually into guys_.

After a while, Dean gave up on thinking about it; Castiel could be _anyone_.

Dean kicked off his shoes and bounced back onto his bed, waiting for his body to stop bouncing from the momentum of impact. He twiddled the paper around in two fingers, his other arm behind his head. He read the address, and the name, over and over again.

As nervous as he was, he decided that he’d see the face of Castiel tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably change a bit around and add later but oh well. I'm working on chapt 2 but no idea when it'll be published.


End file.
